I Was Meant For the Stage
by paperphoenix337
Summary: A short story based off the events taking place towards the end of the movie accompained by the lyrics from "I Was Meant For the Stage" by The Decemberists. In short, a story about Neil, set to a very appropriate song.


**Note:** Sadly, I do not own DPS or The Decemberists. This is just something my mind put together and I thought I'd let others see if they liked it. Title of the song is "I Was Meant For the Stage" by The Decemberists. Enjoy.

To be honest, he didn't want it to end this way.

Of all ways to die one of the last he would have chosen, had he been given an option to pick whichever he pleased, taking his own life would have been one of the last. Somewhere next to beating eaten alive or buried alive or burning alive, etc.

However, he had always had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind…A feeling that told him quite plainly that he was never going to live to be an old man. Not even a middle-aged man, really.

Most people can't picture themselves getting old, but this was different. Most people have a sense that even though they don't know what their faces will looks like adorned with wrinkles and sagging skin that they still silently and unconsciously accept that it will happen.

But this was different. He never had that feeling that one day he would outlive his wild hormones and boyish face just beginning to show traces of manhood.

In a way, it had been a wonderfully free feeling. Never really having to think about a future, aside from the fact that it was already planned out for him, and that one day soon all the worries of the world and the worst to come wouldn't bother him one bit.

So when his father demanded that he speak his mind, Neil kept silent because the idea, the full reality of what his life had been leading up to had suddenly washed over him. Taken him under, really. It was like standing in the ocean, feeling mighty while waiting for the next wave to come up only to have underestimated it and soon finding yourself submerged and choked with salty sea water while your hands grasp as shells and sand as you try to push your way buck up to the surface.

Only, Neil wasn't going to get up. He was already drowning, all he had to do was close his eyes and let it happen.

"Nothing" he whispered.

His father decided that the matter was closed for the time being and strolled out of the office and back to his bed to set about justifying what he had just done in his mind before settling into an uneasy sleep.

It seemed for a moment as though his mother might understand what was happening and perhaps she had, but being the meek woman she was, she hid behind the fear of her husband and tried to assure herself that everything would be alright, would look better in the morning.

Once she had left, Neil set about taking in his surroundings for the last time.

_I was meant for the stage_

_I was meant for the curtain_

_I was meant to tread these boards_

_Of this much I am certain_

He looked around his room for a good bit. He had wished that there were happier memories on which he could reflect hidden in these walls, but they only breathed the soft sigh of the oppression currently forcing his hand to play a deadly card.

_I was meant for the crowd_

_I was meant for the shouting_

_I was meant to raise these hands_

_With quiet all about me_

_Oh, oh_

He moved silently to the windows. He opened each and sucked in the brisk, sharp night air. The irony was not lost on him, how alive the crisp air made him feel. It made him aware of each breath he was taking, even if they were numbered.

_Mother, please be proud_

_Father, be forgiving_

_Even though you told me_

"_Son, you'll never make a living"_

_Oh, oh_

Next, he picked up his Puck crown and carefully, purposefully, placed it one last time upon his head. He focused his thoughts on one of the only times in his life he had been truly, unequivocally happy. How his heart had pumped, his adrenaline rushed… The faces of everyone in the crowd; how in awe they had been of him…

_From the floorboards to the fly_

_Here I was fated to reside_

_And as I take my final bow_

_Was there ever any doubt?_

_And as the spotlights fade away_

_And you're escorted through the foyer_

_You will resume your callow ways_

_But I was meant for the stage_

He really had been good. He loved the feeling of manipulating the audience's emotions. It made him feel more alive than he ever had during his too short life. The feeling of the spotlight on him made him feel important and special, something he never felt like he quite achieved at Welton, even if plenty of people would disagree adamantly.

Even if he couldn't build a career off of acting, it was still something nice to have on the side. What harm could there possibly be to doing something that made you want to wake up in the morning and throw back the curtains while letting out a barbaric yawp to greet the day? What was so wrong with something that made you want to discover, study, and experience all the things in the powerful play that made you want to contribute a verse?

_The heavens at my birth_

_Intended me for stardom_

_Rays of light shone down on me_

_And all my sins were pardoned_

Being a doctor might not be terrible, but what kind of life could he expect to have if he only did what everyone else wanted him to? It wouldn't be his life at all. It would be a sham. A life not lived sucking the marrow out, but by living in that quiet desperation that plagued so many other men…

No, that was not for Neil Perry. Not one bit. And while the uncertainty to what happened once the powerful play was over…That was something he was willing to face, for even if he ceased to think, or continue living in an afterlife, it would be better, in his mind, than playing the role of the dutiful son for the rest of his life. For that role would never be over, even once his father was long gone, because he was sure to be there long enough to break Neil's spirit completely and set the quiet desperation in motion.

So, he was going to die with what little of his spirit he had intact.

_I was meant for applause_

_I was meant for derision _

_Nothing short of fate itself_

_Has affected my decision_

_Oh, oh_

He removed his crown slowly and placed in on the sill, smiley slightly at it as he did so. He crept quietly to his door and down the stairs until he had reached his father's office.

Almost as though he had practiced for this role all his life, he retracted the desk key from its hiding spot and unlocked the bottom drawer.

With loving hands, as though he were handling a small child, he pulled out the bundle that resided there and placed it gently on the desk before him.

As he began to remove the shroud from the gun he focused his thoughts onto his only other happy memories; the friends he had made at Welton had been life-savers as long as they possibly could. Especially Todd.

Neil faltered.

Todd…

_He won't understand just like the rest of them won't, and yes, he will probably hurt more than they will, _Neil thought to himself, _but one day, far from now, he'll be okay again. He's stronger than what you give him credit for. _

Silently praying for Todd's forgiveness, Neil raised the gun. His mind began to whirl, throwing out images, some real, some imagined, of the play, the audience, the spotlights, Todd's smiling face, the Indian cave, Mr. Keating encouraging and supporting him, and finally, a blindingly white, snow-covered field holding only Todd with the Puck crown extended in front of him, silently asking Neil to come take it and him along with it…

_**Bang.**_

"What was that?"

"What?"

"That sound…"

_And from the floorboards to the fly_

_Here I fated to reside_

_And as I take my final bow_

_Was there ever any doubt?_

_And as the spotlights fade away_

_And you're escorted through the foyer_

_You will resume your callow ways_

_But I was meant for the stage_

_**A.N.**:_ I hope that wasn't too terrible. It just needed to be written is all. Anyway, reviews are welcomed and encouraged! Thanks!


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